


In Plain Sight

by obstinatrix



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alley Sex, M/M, Victorian setting, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:39:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3645546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstinatrix/pseuds/obstinatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Utterly plotless Victorian alley-sex, for the prompt "Eager, are we?" on the come_at_once 24 hour porn community. Which is still on LJ, where I wish everything else still was, but I digress. I think I may have already titled a story 'In Plain Sight', but that's what happens when you're contre-la-montre, etc etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Plain Sight

It was not, I must allow, one of our more sensible ideas. Holmes, as is well known, holds little truck with sensible ideas in general, but I like to think I can usually be counted upon to temper his eccentricities. This night, alas, an excess of whisky had dulled my faculties to the point where we were both as reckless as each other, and the slender muscle of his thigh against my cockstand was more than I could resist. Truth be told, I barely remembered why I should.

Holmes, damn the fellow, was quick to remind me.. His voice curled the reason dark and wicked into my ear: "My dear doctor --" a torque of his hips that drove his thigh more firmly between my legs --"I'm surprised at you, a well-respected man about town debasing yourself within earshot of a public thoroughfare." He made a fist at the base of my skull, tugging in a way that set my every nerve afire. "Why, at any moment a whole procession of bobbies might come pouring into this alley and catch us _in flagrante_."

I groaned, my head falling back at his words. One of the difficulties involved in carrying on a personal relationship with Sherlock Holmes is that, upon finding out a man's weak spots, he retains the knowledge carefully for future use. One evening some two years earlier in our sitting room, Holmes remarked mildly that the front door had opened and a gentleman had entered the stairwell, and that I ought to mind my noise lest we be overheard; whereupon I'm afraid I spent myself copiously all over his fist and he has never let me forget it. 

I will allow that this difficulty does sometimes present itself as an advantage. 

The little alley we were presently occupying was, in truth, black as pitch and quite tucked away; we were hot with want and whisky, certainly, but not in fact removed from all our senses. But Holmes knew his doctor, knew well enough how the buzz of the city on the peripheries of my hearing made my pulse leap in my throat, and he ducked his head, mouthed at the curve of my neck. His thigh continued its relentless flexing against my swollen prick, and impatiently I moved to tug at my cravat, easing the way for his clever mouth. 

He laughed, darkly pleased and smug as ever. "Eager, aren't we, my dear?" But I knew his tells, too -- heard the hitch in his voice that said the silver eyes must be almost swallowed up in their pupils by now, and a moment later, his lips were on my skin. I thrust up against him, impatient, and when I clutched at his arse to hitch him closer, he let me, burying a soft sound in the crook of my neck. 

"Eager all evening," I told him, easing him back by the hair. Our eyes met, and I was pleased to have my suspicions confirmed: his eyes were fever-dark and wide, mouth dampened sweetly. I could not help but kiss him. 

And God, after all these months and years and all the times our mouths have met, I never tire of Holmes's kisses, the way he surges into me, how he trembles and clings to me even as we wrestle for control. He was breathing hard through his nose after a matter of seconds, and now as I rocked him more urgently into me, I felt his own stiffness in his trousers, his own heat thrumming under his skin. 

"Watson," he breathed, fingers slipping on my sleeve, and I smiled in the darkness, knowing I had him. 

Sometimes, I feel there is no greater sensation in the world than that of truly, fully _having_ Sherlock Holmes. 

" _Now_ who's eager?" I turned him, and he went easily, let me press him up against the smoky brickwork and reach for his flies. My mouth fell to his neck as if drawn there, tonguing at the pale skin, and he whimpered slightly, his pelvis lifting into my hand as if starved for contact. I had in mind to tease him a little, skirting my fingertips over the soft skin of his belly, dipping into his underdrawers and then out again, but his grip around my wrist put paid to that, forcing my hand. 

"For God's sake, man." His tone was almost imperious, and the incongruity of it made me laugh against his neck as I took hold of his prick, slick-hot and ready for me. He hissed through his teeth, body spasming, and I nipped at his earlobe, tonguing at the soft place behind his ear as I began to work him in firm, steady motions. 

"Mr Sherlock Holmes," I said, "Do you know, I think you're just as fond of this as I am. I think it pleases you, to get away with this, having another man pull you off in an alley not fifty yards from the door of a public house." 

" _Jesus --_ " Holmes rarely swears, and when he does, it spikes my blood like nothing else. I felt him jerk in my hand, the hot smooth length of him pulsing slick, and instinctively I began to work him faster as he fumbled for my trousers, the two of us breathing heavily in the space between our bodies. Holmes's usually-dextrous fingers fumbled on my flies, but between us, we succeeded in getting my trousers open and my underthings out of the way, and then my cock was flush against his, both of us fat and stiff in my hand, and God, _yes_ , I had been eager for this all night. 

"Watson…" He was craning his neck for my mouth, and I gladly let him have it. This kiss was messier than the one before, our teeth bumping, his tongue fucking my mouth even as his prick fucked my fist, rough and relentless and utterly without grace. Somewhere along the way, his hand came down to join mine, and then we were both of us wrapped around the girth of our pricks, his thumb now grazing my slit, mine now catching at his foreskin. Eventually, we could do no more than mash our mouths together inelegantly, and then not even that, the two of us working frantically with heads bent, every muscle in Holmes's body vibrating with tension as he neared his peak. 

"One day, Holmes," I told him, my voice thick and strained, "I mean to fuck you like this, with your cheek to the bricks." He was panting, and I squeezed him firmly, smearing a new pulse of pre-come around the head of his cock. "And you'd let me, wouldn't you, Holmes? I could bugger you in an alley like a common rentboy and you'd -- " 

" _Fuck_!" he rasped out, rather inadvisably loud, and shot all over my hand. 

That was enough for me. The heat of his seed alone almost pushed me over the edge, and now I pressed him back firmly against the bricks, buried my face in his throat as I frigged myself furiously to completion. He was gasping for breath, one hand limp at the small of my back, and I thought of it, of him on all fours for me, of Holmes on his knees in the dark, his throat filled with my cock. 

"Watson," he growled in my ear, and I bit my lip and came, mostly onto the ground but probably more than a little across the fronts of our trousers. 

Thank God for overcoats. 

When I straightened, he was regarding me with one eyebrow arched, looking altogether too cool for a man who had just climaxed over the thought of being buggered in public. I raised my own eyebrow right back in response, although the effect was rather ruined by the fact that I was panting like a racehorse. 

"You needn't look like that," I said, when I could speak. "You were quite as taken by this idea as I was, if I remember rightly." 

"And why," Holmes asked archly, looping an arm through mine, "should that not be something to be pleased about? A most satisfactory Friday evening, I think." He reached down with his free hand to readjust and refasten me, then dusted me off with a flourish. "Cab?" 

"Cab," I concurred, nodding, and together we left the alleyway and reemerged into respectable London. The streets were still busy enough, grocers' boys and young families, newspaper men and Soho lawyers, and none of them any the wiser. 

The thought sent an indecent thrill through me all the way home.


End file.
